Surviving in an RPG Maker Horror Game

Dawn.

It was around four in the morning.

While everyone else was asleep, I was still wide awake, clicking away with my mouse.

The monitor, the only source of light in the dark room, glowed faintly.

A file had just finished downloading on the desk. After a moment’s hesitation, I opened it.

[Unreality.exe]

Unreality.

A legendary horror game made with RPG Maker, created by an anonymous Japanese user in the 2000s.

Nowadays, with highly advanced computer graphics and a flood of AAA horror games, you’d think old games no longer have a place. But the gritty, pixelated, eerie vibe typical of RPG horror games had me completely hooked.

Since I started getting into these games, I think I’ve played almost every horror title out there.

From classics like Ao Oni and The Witch’s House, to obscure foreign titles I played with the help of machine translators.

That’s why “Unreality” was the perfect game for me.

No matter how much I searched horror communities, all I ever found were vague rumors. No videos, not even screenshots. It was a real mystery.

And that mystery only fueled my curiosity. I spent years looking for it.

I scoured Korean forums, foreign sites, anything for a clue about “Unreality.”

Then, finally, a week ago, I found something: a Japanese blog where someone had reviewed the game.

Unfortunately, the post had long since been deleted, but the blog’s address was still accessible. Using every translation tool I had, I emailed the author.

One, two, three days passed. Just when I’d given up hope, I got a reply.

[No subject]

[Sender: Anonymous]

[Attachment (1)]

Not a single word. Just an attachment. Unreality.

It was suspicious—sending only a file with no message or context—but I didn’t care.

I was too excited at the thought of playing it.

Heart pounding with anticipation, I opened the executable.

[Warning!]

[Do you want to run Unreality?]

[This file may contain a virus.]

I ignored the warning without a second thought and clicked “Yes.”

A black window opened, emanating a creepy atmosphere. I stared at the monitor, as if something might suddenly appear.

The program flickered a few times, then shut down.

Click.

The dark screen reflected my face, looking pitiful.

“…What was that?”

I tried again, but the same thing happened. It closed before it even began.

I fought with the file for about 30 minutes before accepting the truth.

The game wouldn’t run. It wasn’t just a simple error. It had never been designed to launch in the first place.

“Unreality.exe” was a catchy name, but in the end, it was just an empty file with nothing inside.

“Ah…”

I’d been completely fooled.

That file sent by an anonymous source was nothing more than bait to reel me in.

The excitement that had reached its peak collapsed in an instant.

Some crazy Japanese guy had cruelly crushed the heart of a desperate person.

‘I just wanted to play a game—why do this to me?’

My reflection in the monitor looked utterly miserable.

Even a baby getting its candy taken away wouldn’t wear such a defeated expression.

I was wrecked, inconsolable. Exhaustion hit me all at once. I rubbed my face hard to stay awake.

‘What if the file really had a virus?’

I’d ignored the warning without a second thought, and now I felt like a complete idiot.

I ran the antivirus multiple times before calming down. Luckily, my computer was fine. The file didn’t contain any viruses.

It was just a hollow shell, created to mock me.

“Seriously.”

A huge wave of emptiness washed over me. And with it, all the curiosity I had for “Unreality” vanished.

I muttered something under my breath and collapsed onto the bed. I didn’t want to look for “Unreality” anymore.

Thinking about how hard I’d tried just to play it made me feel like a complete fool.

That game I’d longed for so desperately had left me with nothing but a vast, hollow void.

***

Time to clock in, just at the brink of being late.

I barely made it to class, dragging my feet as I silently took my seat. I was utterly exhausted from staying up until four in the morning doing stupid things. All that fatigue from the sleepless night hit me in one go.

My eyelids began to droop.

I practically smashed onto my desk. “Sleeping for a few hours won’t end the world, right?”

So, as always, I fell asleep. And not long after, I opened my eyes—not because someone woke me, but simply because I woke up.

Interestingly, no teacher came to wake me today. Maybe that’s why I slept straight through. After that long rest, the exhaustion was completely gone.

It must be lunchtime.

I sat up listlessly and stretched hard. At the same time, an overwhelming deja vu washed over me.

There was something strange in the classroom. The atmosphere just didn’t feel normal. Only then did I look around, feeling a bit alarmed.

“What the hell…?”

Oddly enough, the classroom was already dark.

Not because the lights were off—but the curtains were completely open.

And not just the classroom—so was the hallway, and even what I could see outside the window: total darkness.

Complete darkness.

Like midnight.

‘Midnight?’

I glanced at the clock on the classroom wall. Unfortunately, the hands pointed precisely at 12.

Dead-on twelve. And of course, it wasn’t noon.

It was midnight. I had woken up after midnight.

Nobody had bothered to wake me?

I realized something was seriously wrong. I grabbed my throbbing head and started packing my things.

While shoving my backpack in a hurry, my attention landed on a notebook. It was open right on my desk, impossible to ignore.

Did I fall asleep using it as a pillow? I couldn’t remember.

Anyway, the open notebook had a number written in it, with no context:

[00:00]

I didn’t recall writing that. Though it felt suspicious, I dismissed the distraction immediately.

No time for that. I grabbed my bag and bolted for the back door.

Clack

It didn’t open.

It was locked. After several attempts, I had to give up.

But classroom doors—they usually lock from the outside, right? This lock was on the inside.

It made no sense, but I didn’t dwell on it. Escaping school was the priority.

If the back door was locked, there was still the front one. I headed there, half-dreading the result. Same situation.

Locked with a padlock facing outward. Unless someone came and unlocked it from the other side, I was trapped.

Both doors were locked.

That’s when it hit me—I was stuck in the classroom. Literally locked in. Is this a dream?

The absurdity left me stunned. I pinched my cheek, poked the wall like an idiot. And that’s when a message appeared floating in the air.

Flash

[Initiating tutorial.]

[Escape the classroom within time limit.]

[Reward: Status window]

[Failure penalty: Death]

[Time remaining: 10:00]

‘What?’

I blinked, stunned at what looked like a video game interface.

Tutorial, reward, failure penalty.

A mission window, complete with a live timer at the bottom.

[Time remaining: 9:48]

Apparently, I had to escape the classroom before time ran out. But what did all this mean?

Too real to be a dream—too surreal to be reality.

I couldn’t grasp it, frozen in place, lost in thought. Meanwhile, the timer mercilessly counted down.

[Time remaining: 9:13]

I had a gut feeling something terrible would happen when the time ended. Reluctantly, I began searching the classroom.

On the surface, everything looked normal—but there was something unsettling in the air I couldn’t explain.

First thing that caught my eye: the lockers.

At the back of the classroom, they lined up neatly. And one stood out.

Right in the middle, painted a deep, industrial red.

It was also padlocked—a few weeks ago there had been a theft in the neighboring class, and we were warned to secure our belongings. Since then, some students started locking their lockers.

That red locker probably belonged to one of them.

But honestly, with that ominous look, I doubt anyone wanted to use it. Other than that locker, nothing else was obviously weird in the classroom—though I didn’t check everything thoroughly.

I looked in logical places—the teacher’s desk drawers, behind the TV—searching for the back-door key, but found nothing helpful.

The timer was about to hit zero. Maybe to show time running out, its color shifted to a dark red.

Still, no clue how to escape.

[00:00]

Finally, time was up.

I braced for something horrific to happen—or so I thought. But nothing happened.

‘Ridiculous. I frightened myself for nothing.’

I exhaled in relief. Then I heard a dull, heavy vibration.

It came from the hallway.

My relieved expression vanished. I turned slowly in that direction.

‘Did someone come?’

I peeked out the window. Just like the classroom, the hallway was engulfed in darkness. I heard shuffling footsteps in the distance. Soon, the silhouette of a bulky figure appeared, approaching.

I couldn’t see clearly in the dark, but the dim light from the emergency exit sign and fire extinguisher illuminated just enough.

He wore a plain, sloppy blue uniform and a matching cap. In his right hand he held a flashlight.

‘The guard?’

He looked like one of those nighttime school security guards.

Since it was late, he probably had the night shift. It’s the same person I always saw entering school, so seeing him made me feel a strange mix of relief—and dread. I was about to call for help, then froze.

‘Something’s off…’

I couldn’t explain why, but the guard didn’t feel normal. His usually friendly morning expression was now utterly stiff.

More than expressionless—frozen, inhuman. A chill ran through me. The classic “uncanny valley” feeling.

The guard shuffled down the hallway toward the classroom.

His awkward, unnatural gait made me feel like I was watching a moving mannequin.

Instinctively, I ducked. My first thought was to hide before he noticed me.

The footsteps drew closer. I covered my mouth and nose—to stifle any noise.

I cocked my ear and focused entirely on the hallway.

‘Is he gone?’

At some point, the steps stopped. I was hiding in a blind spot under the window, so I couldn’t see the hallway outside.

I had to rely on my instincts. Maybe he didn’t see me and had passed.

‘Let me check.’

I peeked slowly through the window and froze.

The guard was right there—standing directly in front of it, eyes wide open, like he’d known all along I was hiding there.

The moment I raised my head, our eyes locked. His were red, bloodshot—and fixed directly on me.

“Shit!!”

I yelped and fell backward in shock, knocking over every desk around me.

Yet still, the guard didn’t take his gaze off me.